


Darkest Before Dawn

by firenewt



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst and Feels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4459631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firenewt/pseuds/firenewt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After waiting almost a century to snack on his "little morsel", Chaos has a unique solution for keeping Reeve with him forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkest Before Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvilRobotCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilRobotCat/gifts).



> The prompt I chose to work with was "Chaos/Reeve. Something intense and romantic. (A flying death monster and a kind-hearted man can make some awesome fireworks together!)" So....there's fire? And "fireworks"? And its intense and romantic, albeit with a twist! :) I ship Reeve and Vincent/Chaos because of EvilRobotCat, and I really hope this story meets the standard!

Darkest Before Dawn

Vincent jerked to attention with a start. He had drifted a bit, not meaning to, but the hour was very late and his vigil had been long and unrelenting. He was tired. Tired and heartsick. He had no regrets, and his patience was a deep well. But that didn’t mean it was any less difficult to endure. 

The faint rustle came again. A tiny mew, like that of a newborn kitten, reached his ears. He leaned forward, the better to see in the gloom, sharp eyes searching for some change, some hope that today would not bring more deterioration.

“Vince….” A dry cough interrupted Reeve’s attempt at speaking. Vincent winced at the hollow noise ripping through his friend’s chest and throat. He brought a glass of water to Reeve’s lips, sliding a hand under his head to support it while he took a small sip. 

Reeve swallowed, choked a bit, heaved a breath, swallowed again. “Th-thanks,” he whispered.

Vincent let Reeve’s head down again, taking his time to brush the thin strands of grey hair back from his brow. A small smile quirked one side of his mouth. He remembered when that hair had been thick and black but still liked to fall over Reeve’s forehead, even when it was slicked back to keep it in place. And how Reeve would impatiently brush it out of his eyes with the back of his hand when he was intent on the delicate phase of some project or another. Vincent never understood or particularly cared about the engineering side of all those projects, but he was intensely interested in Reeve. He would keep him company as he worked through the day and into the wee hours of the morning, silently passing him tools, and listening as Reeve absently kept up a running commentary about what he was doing. Reeve talked more to himself than Vincent, encouraging himself; critiquing; going down tangential lines of thought to strange places. Vincent served as an unofficial recording device during these sessions. His Turk training allowed him to remember vast quantities of information almost verbatim, and when Reeve was struggling to recall some fantastic idea that had flashed through his mind at 4:15 a.m. while rewiring the sensors of a spybot, Vincent was there to remind him. 

Vincent would see those sharp eyes lift to him, surprised and grateful, renewed enthusiasm for the idea lighting their dark depths, but before Reeve would hustle off to his workshop, he would be sure to give his quiet shadow a kiss in thanks. And to Vincent, that was more than enough reward.

Now those eyes were clouded with cataracts, and wandered back and forth instead of being able to focus on the details of Vincent’s face. Although they tried. Goddess knows they tried.

“I can hardly see you,” Reeve complained. “Vince?” A trembling hand lifted slightly, and Vincent caught it in his own.

“Here. I’m here. Never worry.” He caressed the dry, papery skin, running his thumb over the raised veins and age spots that marred the back of it, feeling the enlarged joints that prevented the once nimble hands from closing completely, or even holding a stylus or cup anymore. But those fingers did their best to hold onto the cool flesh in return, like the lifeline it was. 

Reeve smiled, coughed a bit again. “I feel pretty good today,” he said. “Yeah. Good. Maybe we could inspect Reactor 3. I’ve been meaning to do that.”

And Vincent knew Reeve’s mind was wandering again, back to the old days, the heyday of Shin-Ra, and his time as head of the Department of Urban Development. “Certainly,” he said calmly. “But first you’ll have to eat something. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all. I don’t want you to faint in there and have to haul your ass out. You know I hate being in the reactors.” He played along: the inconsistencies in when they had met and under what circumstances didn’t matter. All that counted was keeping his charge happy. 

“I’m not hungry,” Reeve pouted. He sighed. “Is it sunny out today? I miss the sun. I’d like to sit in the sun.”

“It’s early yet. But when the sun rises, you can certainly do that.” Vincent rose from his chair by the bed, and crossed to the window of the small room. “I’ll open the curtains. That way we’ll catch the dawn.” He turned to look at the man lying in the bed: the wasted body barely disturbing the quilts; the knobby hands resting on the bony chest; the skeletal head turned towards him, straining to see more than a looming blob that moved. Despite the fact that the sun was still below the horizon, it seemed to Vincent that there was a faint glow about him. He blinked, thinking it might be his vision playing tricks on him. But it was still there. 

He closed his eyes briefly then, fighting down the panic and grief that shut his throat and threatened to overwhelm him. He breathed deeply, clenching his hands, feeling the sharp edges of his gauntlet cut into his thigh. His heart screamed at him to do something, anything, to prevent this from happening, but his mind knew there was nothing to do. He almost whimpered.

“What? What is it? Are you alright?” Reeve looked concerned. Not frightened. After nine decades, he trusted his partner implicitly. But he knew the disorientation that sometimes overtook him, and the internal purgatory in which he existed. 

Vincent took a deep breath. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s fine.” He moved his chair out of the way, setting it against the wall. “Would you mind if I held you? Just…for a while?” It was hard for him to ask that. He didn’t want to cause Reeve any discomfort, and some days the pain was just too great for much physical contact. In fact, he didn’t like to ask for anything, especially that kind of closeness. Even after so long together, it was out of his comfort zone.

Reeve knew him well. He smiled slightly and patted the bed beside him. “I’d like that.”

Vincent slipped out of his clothes, carefully crawled in and arranged himself next to Reeve, trying not to jounce the bed too much. Finally they were settled, Reeve’s head cradled against Vincent’s shoulder, and their hands clasped. Vincent rested his cheek against Reeve’s scalp, wishing for the millionth time he could impart some warmth to his lover, instead of just taking it.

“Do you remember when we built this house, how you wanted the bedroom to face east? So the morning sun would shine in and wake you, and you could get an early start to the day?”

“That makes sense,” Reeve said. “I’m glad I thought of that.”

“But you’d stay up so late working you often wouldn’t wake up anyway. I’d have to poke you until you’d sit up. Even then I couldn’t be sure you were fully awake.”

“I don’t remember that! I think you’re making that up.”

“Well, you wouldn’t remember if you were asleep, would you. And I don’t lie.”

“Humph!”

“Sometimes I’d just let you sleep. You needed it. I’d sit and watch the sun rise and the light would fall directly on you and you’d be squinting and hot. Your cheeks would get all red and you’d throw the covers off.”

“You should have woken me. I hate being hot like that.”

“No. Those were the best mornings. I’d have a cup of tea and enjoy the scenery.”

Reeve gave a wheezing laugh and Vincent could feel the small change in temperature against his cool skin. He looked down to confirm what his sense of touch was telling him. “How can I still make you blush after all this time, hmm? Or a better question would be, how can you possibly still blush at a little comment like that, at such a small thing?”

“I don’t know,” Reeve muttered. “You are so beautiful, still. So…desirable. It’s silly, isn’t it. For me to say that. I don’t know why you have stayed with me. Look at me…so ugly and old and sick.” His voice grew harsh and shaky. “I can’t even take a piss by myself, you help me with everything! How can you even bear to touch me!” 

Vincent rubbed Reeve’s shoulder lightly, soothing him. “You still look good to me. More than good. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. It makes me happy. You make me happy.”

“I…I do?” Reeve didn’t sound convinced. “I’m not good for anything anymore. You just have to look after me all the time.” 

“That’s nothing new. I’ve always had to look after you. You’re not very good at looking after yourself, you know,” Vincent said, dry humour taking the sting out of the words. 

“True,” Reeve said wryly. He sighed. “I don’t know what I would do without you. I love you, you know.”

Vincent’s throat closed again. He thought he could feel a slight vibration in the frail body he held. He tried to convince himself it was his imagination, but he had seen and felt this too many times in the past to mistake it. Sometimes there would be a rise in the energy of an elderly or very ill person or animal right before death, lending a false impression of health and lucid vitality. Perhaps it was the soul preparing to depart the physical body and rejoin the Lifestream. In any case, the signs were there, and as much as Vincent wanted to ignore them, he knew time was running out. This might be his last chance to say the words and have Reeve hear them. “I love you, too.”

He gently turned Reeves’s face toward him and leaned down to kiss him, feeling him start in surprise, then return the kiss eagerly. They had not made love in a long time: Reeve was too fragile and his health too precarious. The slightest exertion left him coughing and struggling for air. It had just not been a priority. But now, did it really matter anymore? 

Concessions had to be made. This would be all about Reeve. Vincent scooted down a bit, kissing his way down Reeve’s chest, ending at his nipple, licking and teasing it, suckling one while he gently pinched the other. Reeve murmured approval, and Vincent could feel his hands running through his hair, pulling it a bit, and rubbing at the nape of his neck. Vincent bit the nipple he was tending and heard a sharp inhalation, followed by a brief cough. He winced. As much as he would like to take his time, he was not sure Reeve would last. His reserves were so low nowadays.

“Shall I continue?” he asked, giving Reeve the option to say no. A good day could turn bad very quickly.

“Yes,” Reeve encouraged. “Please. I want…I’ll be okay.”

“Alright. But tell me if it’s too much.” Vincent slid lower, dropping little kisses along the sunken abdomen, and along the prominent hip bones. Reeve was only half erect; Vincent took him in his mouth, sucking slowly, running the flat of his tongue up the underside of his penis and rubbing it gently. Reeve moaned and squirmed a little, and Vincent could feel him responding. He took him as deeply as he could, swallowing around him, contracting his throat as he stroked Reeve’s flank. Reeve gasped, making a half-hearted thrust upward, hands skating across the sheets, and his breathing becoming more harsh. Vincent could hear a sudden deep rattle in Reeve’s chest, and paused. Reeve was clearly in the moment, fully hard now and needing more, and it seemed cruel to stop. But was this small pleasure really worth it? Vincent was reluctant to continue; he did not want to take the chance of losing Reeve any sooner than he had to.

However, Reeve had other ideas. Headstrong as always, he urged Vincent to come back up so he could kiss him again. Vincent complied, but his anxiety was rising, keeping pace with Reeve’s arousal. He could feel himself trembling on the edge of transformation and tried to fight it. He wanted to be present as himself for this moment. Rage built, at how unfair it was, that he was losing his lover and partner and friend; that he would be alone again, unable to follow him into death’s peaceful oblivion. And to be robbed of even the chance to stay with him as long as possible, to have one of the others take over at this most precious time…that was unacceptable! 

He felt himself fading, losing control, becoming insubstantial. A small growl escaped him. Not now! Not for these last oh-so-important moments! Please….

There was nothing he could do. He could not stop Reeve slipping away. He could not stop the inevitable march of time and the demise of a mortal body. And he could not stop the loss of himself in this moment, either. Tears ran down his face, unheeded, and he devoured Reeve’s lips, his chin, his neck, trying to memorize his taste one more time, his human hand roaming desperately over his ribs, cupping his butt, pulling him close as Reeve groaned, straining against him.

And suddenly Reeve was enclosed in warm wings. The musky scent of the demon filled the room, and a humming growl echoed against the walls of the small room. Chaos moved up and over Reeve, not kissing him, but nipping and nuzzling, with none of the careful hesitation that Vincent had shown. His approach was very different. Perhaps he would achieve the same outcome, but he had a different agenda. Reeve responded in kind; the familiar heat, so welcome to his thin body, loosened his joints, and the hot moist breath on his neck warmed his blood. As Chaos massaged his ribs, Reeve’s breathing eased, losing that whistling quality that so alarmed Vincent and made him abandon any activity that caused it. 

Reeve clutched the demon’s shoulders, anchoring himself as his hips lifted and he arched into the muscular body above him, seeking contact with his lover. Chaos slid a hand downward, cupping Reeve’s testicles and squeezing slightly, eliciting a surprised moan and a jerk, followed by a plea for more. Reeve was always a sucker for some rough treatment, but Chaos knew that he often asked for more than he could handle. Still, he rolled the balls against each other and squeezed again, rewarded by a strong thrust against his hip. The demon’s grip transferred to Reeve’s hard cock, stroking it firmly, then allowing the man to set the pace at which he wanted to move. 

Small beads of sweat rolled down Reeve’s temples. Chaos flicked out the tip of his tongue, catching them, the salt tantalizing him. He hoped for more very soon. His mouth fastened onto the side of Reeve’s neck, sucking and biting, although he was guarded with his teeth. Reeve’s pulse pounded under his lips and his panting filled his ears. His stroking increased in speed; what the demon lacked in delicate finesse he more than made up for in skill and enthusiasm. Reeve’s little cries goaded him, making it hard for him to keep his more aggressive instincts under control and concentrate on the critical task before him.

Reeve pushed hard into the demon’s hand and his entire body tensed. Chaos lifted his head as Reeve’s eyes rolled back into his head and his mouth opened soundlessly. His head arched back against the pillow, and Chaos felt the hot spurt against his flesh, just once: Reeve was near the end of his stamina, but it was enough. His cock became flaccid almost immediately, and he fell back loosely onto the bed. Chaos still lay half over him, watching closely as he licked his hand clean, savouring the taste of his lover. 

A small smile graced Reeve’s face as he lifted a hand, touching the demon’s dark cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For everything….”

His hand dropped and he sighed deeply. The sound trailed off slowly; all the air was leaving his body, as his lungs collapsed and every muscle relaxed. Chaos had been expecting this. With one hand cradling Reeve’s skull and the other placed over his heart, he lowered himself fully onto the man and fastened his mouth onto Reeve’s, swallowing his last breath.

The faint glow that Vincent had seen earlier around Reeve was much clearer to Chaos’ demon vision. As Reeve exhaled, the glow intensified, and as he sank back into the bed, the light seemed to rise off of him. As it started to dissipate, Chaos focused, placing his forehead against Reeve’s. The light grew stronger, becoming more substantial again, thickening, until it coalesced between the two of them. Then it expanded suddenly, surrounding the demon until he was haloed in a fiery corona. And just as suddenly, it disappeared into him. He seemed to be lit from within for a few seconds, then the glow was gone.

The thick silence was rent with an ear-splitting roar, full of grief and loss and loneliness. The walls of the bungalow shook; in the kitchen, glass shattered. Tremors made the ground quiver and the foundation crack. From throughout the various rooms came the sound of things falling off shelves, pipes bursting, bits of the ceiling collapsing.

Amidst the continued background noise of the house starting to disintegrate, Chaos lifted off the bed. He reached out slowly, closing Reeve’s eyes, lingering on the cherished face for a few seconds, touching the lips still curved in a slight smile. 

Reeve was gone. The shell he had vacated already appeared smaller, more shrunken. Everything that Reeve had been, all his vital energy; his restless intellect; his boundless curiosity; his wit and sense of humour; his vast love of life; everything that made Reeve Reeve was now safely housed inside Chaos. And alongside this were Vincent’s memories of Reeve: the times they had laughed together; made love; shared a meal; talked late into the night….

Vincent could not stop the end that all mortals face; neither could Chaos. But the demon could do something that the man could not. Perhaps, with time, Vincent would forgive Chaos for stealing those last minutes with Reeve, so as to salvage that essential part of their beloved and keep it with them forever. Instead of rejoining the Lifestream, Reeve would have immortality of a different kind. They would never be parted again.

And now, there was nothing left for them here. Chaos gathered a few items he knew Vincent would want: a memory stick, Reeve’s antique straight razor and tool kit, and an old Cait Sith that sat in the corner of the bedroom, inactive for several decades, but something Reeve held dear. Then he walked out of the house, not looking back. 

It was dawn. The sun was just rising. Chaos called Fire, and the small house that Vincent and Reeve had designed and built together and called home for almost a century, burst into flames.

The demon stood and watched it burn for a few minutes, a fitting pyre for the end of a dream. Then he turned, and with one sweep of his great wings, he was airborne, the heated air from the fire creating an updraft that made his ascent effortless. He circled once, then headed into the west, following the retreating shadows of the night. 

Dangling in Chaos’ grasp, Cait’s eyes seemed to flare as the flames were reflected in them, creating the impression of tears sparkling in the sunrise.


End file.
